


Blindness

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An incredible scientific discovery has enormous consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blindness

_“Like the stars we’re born to die,   
And like these roses we all will fade.” _   
**-David Usher, _Lost in the Music_ **

_“When looking at the world around you always change your perspective, my son. Make the old new again.” _

He does not think this is what his mother had in mind. Then again there was so much she had bottled up to protect him until she felt he was ready to shoulder such knowledge. She believed in him when his father did not.

He sees the scattered paper notations sprawled across this desk. Not so easy to read from twenty feet away and with a rush of blood to the head they look like inkblot stars on an unpainted white sky. His microscope bulges oddly with angles he never perceived before. A recently used needle burns Holy Grail bright.

Naturally his arms fall above (or below) his head and when he looks down (or up) at his stretched out body it is as if he is seeing his feet, hooked over the beam, for the first time. He is literally heels over head.

No longer at the mercy of gravity there is an indescribable freedom that bursts forth in an overdose of shock and awe. He should keep his mind clear and stay focused on why this is important. But a brand new world is opening up in front of his newborn eyes—and on the off chance that this is a onetime deal he wants to envelop himself in it as much as possible.

Tomorrow he can worry about logistics and ramifications. Tomorrow he can formulate his defensive argument.

Tonight he is practically flying.

Mohinder grins and laughs in excitement.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ********** **

 

“You don’t understand,” Mohinder says and averts his eyes to dismiss the argument being laid at his feet.

“I know this is dangerous,” Maya says and she grabs his arm refusing him the opportunity to walk away. “I know that you don’t know what will happen.”

“There is no certainty, but that should not stop me from trying. I wasn’t born with…unbelievable abilities like some of you,” Mohinder says as he looks down exasperatedly at her tense hand on his arm. He is irritated at having to explain the finer points to her. “But I know enough to isolate it, to reproduce it—each unique anomaly—as a serum that’s easy to inject.”

“But why?” Maya pleads.

Mohinder pulls his arm free from her tightening grip. “There were so many I could not help. And there were those I could not stop. But now…I have the chance to level the playing field.”

“By playing doctor with other peoples blood? By doing experiments on yourself? You don’t know what this could do to you. This is not your place,” Maya says, tilting her face up into his space, the closeness of which makes it impossible for him to pretend her plea does not exist.

Ignoring the worry in Maya’s crinkled eyes and the shallowness of her panicked breathing Mohinder keeps his eyes on hers and draws his mouth into a pursed line before relying. “And apparently it’s not yours either,” he says with a purposely exacted flippant tone. “Instead of wanting to control your ability, to help against those who would happily use theirs to destroy, you prefer to ignore your purpose all together. Not all of us want to run away.”

Maya takes a step back and shakes her head at him, her mouth turning into a frown. “I’ve seen bad people do bad things with their powers,” she says. “I’ve seen evil win over good.”

Taking in a deep calming breath Mohinder steps towards her and grasps both her shoulder, light enough to imply he understands her concerns. “This is necessary,” he says. “I can do this. I can do some good.”

Maya wrenches her body free as she backs away from. Now her eyes are wider, still focused with disappointment, on him. “I’ve seen better people than you fall,” she says firmly but he can hear the melancholy in her voice. “What makes you any better?”

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ********** **

 

_A friend in need is a friend indeed._

There are so many he can now make a difference to. No longer relegated to only seeking them out, Mohinder can now appeal to those with an evolutionary advantage from a much more personal standpoint. Skepticism is shoved aside as he shows off his own prowess like calculated but still inspiring magic tricks.

“You are not alone,” Mohinder tells them and he means it.

He only collects blood samples from those who agree to participate in his research. They understand their significance and the role they play in the future of humanity. Their samples are his lifeline, the essence of what he is able to become, to aid in the battle that is building up on some frontline that moves closer each day. No longer stationed on the sidelines by chance, Mohinder takes his place in the middle of the fight.

For once Mohinder feels like he belongs, as if he is finally connected to a world he once thought was beyond his grasp, existing only as a vivid universe in his imaginings.

Few people turn away from his requests but he does not bear a grudge against those who do not wish to step up. He is cognizant that the unknown is a frightening concept. All he can do is stay focused, looking straight ahead, with the power to save the world tightly wound up in his fist.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** **

 

_No good deed goes unpunished._

There are so many ways he can make the difference that he has to. The power that these individuals possess, even those with abilities that seem to lack any functioning purpose, is staggering. With the right direction and the proper incentive these people carry within them the potential to alter the course of an unwritten, but supposedly dire, future. War, disease, famine, illness, environmental catastrophes—what would be the final chapter of human history will instead become a footnote to something far greater.

Knowing this, being able to see it with his mind’s eye, Mohinder is disheartened with those who want no part of it. They refuse to accept what flows through their veins and is sealed in their DNA, the duty it assigns to them. At first Mohinder pleaded and debated for their understanding. A few gave in (mostly, he suspected, to get rid of him) but many (ever so frustratingly) shook their heads in refusal.

It is not so much their desire for normalcy that angers him (although how they can not be enamoured with their own superhuman capabilities boggles his mind especially considering the body rush he feels each time he calls an ability forth) but their disregard for the human race, for the future of the world. They are so afraid of the unknown that they would turn away from hope.

The harder Mohinder tries the more callous is the response. Humans will bring about their own extinction because they will it, he surmises.

He refuses to go down with the sinking ship. Not when he can do something about it. He takes samples from _everyone_ whether they care to be part of his research or not. For the least helpful he finds the mention of a few government sounding agencies—particularly a made up section under the Homeland Security division—works wonders. What the fate of the world does not do, the fear of secret government imprisonment and labels like ‘treason’ and ‘unpatriotic’ accomplishes quite well.

With the replication of abilities Mohinder becomes what they will not. He suffers the pain of manipulating his body and turns a cautious blind eye to the side effects: secretions, lesions, growths and temporary disfigurement. All do their time on his body then retreat with the injection of the reworked serum (manipulated and altered again and again), which only manifests other consequences.

Mohinder reminds himself that his scientific breakthrough, being able to make enhanced abilities injectable for “normal” people, to bring humankind to the next rung of evolution, brings with it his responsibility to use it wisely. For now he will be the willing lab rat.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ********** **

 

_Higher. Faster. Stronger.   
_  
Mohinder cannot leap tall buildings in a single bound—yet. He has not tested being faster than a speeding bullet—but he has come close. Flying, night vision, spontaneous electric currants, and super strength are only a few of the abilities he has brought into his repertoire. He would like to think he is quickly picking up on the nuances specific to each one, mostly based on his own want for them to work and his belief in their importance; a contrast to those he has met along the way who were more perturbed than appropriately awed.

Mohinder cannot imagine what he was thinking way back when he toted the line about helping people lead a normal life. What he has tasted is so much better than the alternative—and what he could not come by naturally he achieved through intellectual curiosity and a restless drive. Now, for the first time in years, Mohinder thinks about his father and smiles at how poorly Chandra’s foresight stretched. He had underestimated Mohinder his entire life and Mohinder feels ready to pack away that hurt and disappointment. It served its purpose, but that was then.

He is fearless (reckless) and brave (impulsive). If the world is to be saved then it will be by those with the courage of their convictions. Mohinder used to over think his every decision and move, and it always backfired. Following his instincts is a viable alternative.

He throws himself in headfirst but is more of a scrappy fighter than one with practiced finesse. For his air of cultured professionalism he has never had to learn or develop a fighting style. His is then instinctive and relatively raw with a hint of desperation. Each action is thrust with urgent intent and single-minded attention of just surviving the here and now.

It makes him feel alive.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ********** **

 

“What have you done?” Peter demands. Panic is barely contained in his rushed tone.

“It was—I—it was an accident,” Mohinder says and his avoidance of Peter’s wide eyes is a telling admission of his own worry. He turns to walk away but only makes it two steps before Peter abruptly appears in front of him.

“An accident?” Peter says. Mohinder tries not to cringe from the shouting reprimand he is anticipating. “Maya’s in a state about you trying to take her ability by nearly killing her in the process.”

“I didn’t…she misunderstood and overreacted.”

“You betrayed her trust,” Peter says. “Making her think one thing…”

“She knows exactly what I’ve been working on,” Mohinder says folding his arms across his chest in a defensive posture. “I was clear with her. Anything else she assumed is of her own accord.”

“The kiss—,”

“Was just that, no more no less.”

“It’s not so simple for her,” Peter says as he lowers his voice.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but how is that my problem?” Mohinder asks and his insistent tone relates his unwillingness to take the full blame for Maya’s state.

“Mohinder,” Peter says with surprise, Mohinder guesses, at the tone of his words.

Trying to sound more reasonable Mohinder sighs and softens his voice. “Maya’s lonely and trying to take back the control she lost over her life. I understand that. Many of us are doing the same thing. Sometimes it means seeing what you want to see, not what actually is. It can mean doing one thing in a given moment that…she wants something that isn’t there and is trying to rationalize the…a misunderstanding.”

“That’s what I thought, but…”

Peter breaks from Mohinder’s shifty gaze and lets his eyes trail about the apartment. Without looking Mohinder knows he must be feeling the same odd sensation that brushes along his skin causing him to shiver goosebumps to the surface. It is something Mohinder has become accustomed to, much as he has gotten used to the walls being blanketed with a strangely textured yellow covering that is bumpy and layered, living in a petri dish. To the untrained eye it would seem incomprehensible, but to a knowing scientist it is the limited price of going where no man has gone before.

“Now I’m not so sure,” Peter says as he stares back at Mohinder. “When we first spoke about this _experiment _I told you it wasn’t a good idea.”

“I’m not some mad scientist,” Mohinder snaps and steps back only to be halted by Peter’s firm grip on his arm. “It’s fine. There are just a few variables I had not taken into account…”

“Variables? No, _this_ is completely out of hand,” Peter says. “What the hell has happened to you? Taking abilities all for yourself.  You're turning into--,"

Mohinder snatches his arm free and glares at Peter for his admonishing tone and cruel suggestion.  "I'm not at all like _him_.  He kills to turn himself into a god.”

“And you borrow in good faith?” Peter says as he raises his voice again to convey his disbelief. “Homeland Security bullshit…”

“I’m doing what I must for the future of the world,” Mohinder says in a rush of words. “So many people don’t understand the precipice we stand at and what they have to do, so I have to make it work. I have to ensure that these abilities that came into existence for a reason are used.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Peter asks scrunching up his face in frustration. “How different is this from Sylar taking abilities from people he thinks are misusing them?”

“He murders for it,” Mohinder says and backs up a few steps in the hopes that enforcing a distance will help him control his anger.

“And you lie,” Peter says. His raised left hand tensely striking at the empty air emphasizes the harsh point. “Trying to turn yourself into some superhuman. He kills and you make people think they have no choice. You take a piece of their genetic make up for your own personal use.”

Peter takes a deep breath and keeps his intense gaze directly on Mohinder. On the receiving end of his narrowed eyes Mohinder feels his caustic regard that is further reiterated when Peter says, “Tell me when I’m no longer making the parallel between you and that murderer.”

Chastised but defiantly willed to not back down Mohinder says, “My work…my…”

“Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should,” Peter says before softening his tone. “Just because he could kill all those people to take what was theirs didn’t mean it was okay to do it. Conscience. Morals.”

Peter moves forward into Mohinder’s space. “Stop this Mohinder. All of this. Now.”

Mohinder’s head pounds out Peter’s disappointment in him. It throbs his every decision, mistake and accomplishment as they play out in fast-forward against the backdrop of his mind. In Peter’s eyes he sees seething concern and dismantled expectations. Mohinder knows he has accomplished so much and that the price he has paid (is still paying) is high. But to stop now seems unconscionable—not with everything in the palm of his hands.

“I can’t,” Mohinder says.

A dull pain twists in his chest as Peter’s face falls in sadness at the confession.

“I’m sorry Peter.”

Mohinder is only half surprised to realize he actually means it. By that point he is already slamming his head forward against Peter’s surprised face.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ********** **

 

“I always knew you had a thing for me,” Sylar says with a half crooked mouth. “But actually trying to be me—,”

Sylar’s expression softens slightly making his smirk less pronounced as it settles into an amused smile. His dark eyes sparkle bright for a moment and then his trademark smugness is back taunting Mohinder as it always does. “I always knew you had it in you.”

At one time this type of surprise visit would quiver panic deep within Mohinder’s gut—worry he would have concealed but would have felt nonetheless. Now it subsides with little effort on his part. Such is the rarely realized wonder of one’s life being within one’s own control. “I was wondering when you’d show your face.”

Sylar tilts his head to the right as if thoughtfully taking in Mohinder’s relatively calm demeanour. He gives the impression of someone trying to decipher meaning from a painting thought to be one thing only to be revealed as something else under a wayward beam of light. “Your reputation now precedes you Mohinder,” he says, still hanging back by the wall. “I had to see what my old friend was up to with my own eyes—especially since I seem to be your muse.”

Mohinder wrinkles his brow in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“So coy,” Sylar grins. “But all these powers—,”

In a split second Sylar is across the floor, chest to chest with Mohinder, leaning forward and hovering his lips near Mohinder’s right ear to whisper, “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

Mohinder snaps his head back and glares at Sylar. After a hesitant few seconds he says, “Why would I want to be anything like you—,”

He thrusts his right hand forward recalling Jessica’s strength and pummels his fist into Sylar’s chest sending him back ten feet with a thud against the wall. As Sylar drops to the floor, groaning at the power in the surprise attack, Mohinder stands tall and says, “When Peter is so much more.”

Sylar shakes his head and settles unblinking eyes that feel cold and jeering on Mohinder. Without moving his limbs he springs upright to his feet and lets loose a short laugh saying, “Really Mohinder? Still playing hard to get?”

As Sylar throws up his right arm Mohinder unthinkingly brings up his left hand, palm forward, and hurtles a bolt of electricity to counter the perceived telekinetic blow. He strikes Sylar’s left shoulder and the invisible hold that has Mohinder halfway up to the ceiling is released. Falling, Mohinder puts out his arms to break the fall and accidentally lets loose another lightning bolt at the floor that burns through is clothes and skin as he lands on top of it.

Both men grimace in pain but Sylar recovers first and in the blink of an eye he is standing over Mohinder. He reaches down and fists Mohinder’s shirt collar using it to yank him to his feet. With Mohinder’s position adjusted for him he feels Sylar’s hand move from his collar up to his throat tightening around his neck in a vice grip.

Sylar pulls him close and with a drawn out and precise pattern of speaking that renders his anger undeniable says, “Having abilities is one thing. _Controlling_ them is another. Anybody can have power. But keeping it from controlling you is the test. It’s how you wield it that matters.”

Immense heat emanates from Sylar’s hands and blisters a burn along Mohinder’s skin causing him to scream in pain, the likes of which he has never experienced before. In retaliation he channels Irshad Gupta’s power and turns down the temperature of his skin past the point of freezing. In doing so he exacerbates the injury Sylar has inflicted by contracting the broken and bubbling skin and coagulating, to the point of wretched stiffness, once flowing blood across the wound. The extreme opposition in temperature crinkles surprise in Sylar’s eyes as he looks from his now freezing hand up to Mohinder.

Mohinder’s skin begins to develop a glossy sheen as he drops his core temperature dangerously low. It slips out of his control and his teeth chatter the warning sign that his mind understands but he still has difficulty responding to. With Sylar’s hand still gripping his neck (loosening up somewhat) Mohinder’s focus is on resisting him instead of ensuring his own survival. In the jaded logic of fitful fights that are far too personal to be analyzed it makes sense—which is to say there is madness to the method.

Extremes only last so long, pulling too far apart until the tug of war snaps everything one way. Whether Mohinder’s power is genuinely stronger in the given moment or Sylar is caught off guard by the matching show of force Sylar let’s go with a scowl and grabs his frozen hand with his unhurt one to examine it, then looks up. Mohinder is growing colder while endless shivers wrack his physique, reminding him of his own lack of complete control. Sweat is transformed into an icy layering that is luckily not thick enough to be debilitating.

Fighting against the gnawing weakness Mohinder stands straight but quickly doubles over with a painful body shiver before standing up again. He tilts his head back and casts glowering eyes downward on Sylar and says, “I think I’m doing a pretty good job.”

Sylar does not immediately respond and Mohinder tries to take advantage of pause in their verbal and physical assault to collect himself. He keeps his gaze on Sylar who makes no apologies about staring back at him, trailing his eyes up and down Mohinder’s body.

“Pretty good might be stretching it,” Sylar says looking at the icy texture that rests along Mohinder’s skin. “Decent—better than expected—maybe.”

Their eyes meet. “Of course being a human Popsicle doesn’t exactly have the cache you think it does.”

Sylar’s mocking tone always puts Mohinder on edge in the way it belittles and hits a sensitive nerve of truth all at once. He redirects his attention on raising his body temperature and tries not to let Sylar distract him. A much more pleasant heat begins in his feet and he pulls it up his body, breathing in a short sigh of relief in the process. Mohinder glances upwards and confirms the ominous suspicion of being carefully watched when Sylar returns his gaze.

“Even when I think you can’t surprise me anymore, you do,” Sylar says again staying back a respectable distance. “And truthfully I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Mohinder watches Sylar’s forehead wrinkle in concentration at him as he attempts to decode the invisible cogs that click, whiz and whir beneath Mohinder’s skin. Feeling less vulnerable as he settles his body heat Mohinder pushes his shoulders back to ensure Sylar sees his determination.

“Not that I care…” Mohinder says and the word ‘but’ hangs unspoken at the end of the sentence eliciting a brief open mouth smile from Sylar who thrusts his hands in his pant pockets and drops his shoulders slightly. He gives off an air of relaxed indifference and Mohinder knows his own tense body strikes a sharp contrast.

“All that talk about the selfless use of powers for good,” Sylar says and swats out his opened right hand in the air. Mohinder hears his shirt tear and feels multiple strips of skin, like a matching claw mark, rip across this chest. He screams and clutches uselessly at his chest feeling the blood spill over top and in between his fingers. Sylar’s image appears hazy in his tear filling eyes but he can still see the stern look on his face.

“But the minute you got a taste of it you knew you would never want to give it up.”

“Why should I want to give it up when I’m doing good with it?” Mohinder asks as he grinds his teeth.

“Taking from those who do not appreciate what they have?” Sylar says with a look that Mohinder instantly knows is deriding him for not noticing the uncanny similarities to a conversation they had years earlier.

Mohinder sends a contained order to his hands to cool and temporarily freezes the blood until he can get proper medial attention. He glares at Sylar. “I’m doing this to help those who won’t help themselves.”

“How many times a day do you have to convince yourself of that?”

Sylar’s interruption is expected and Mohinder does not let it go unacknowledged. He knows Sylar well enough that to do so would place power in Sylar’s corner and Mohinder needs to keep as much equilibrium in place as he can.

“I’m stating a fact not an affirmation,” Mohinder says and begins a set of steps away from Sylar, circling around each other while maintaining eye contact.

“The repetition of one’s convictions,” Sylar says taking up his half of completing the swaggering circle. “You only do that when you don’t quite believe what you’re saying.”

“And you’re only here because you can’t stand that once again you’re not the be all and end all,” Mohinder says, backing up his words by cutting across the empty space of the circle’s middle and planning himself firmly in front of Sylar.

“Like you?”

“Like me!”

“You’re enjoying a momentary upswing, and one that is not nearly as clear cut as you want to pretend it is,” Sylar says calmly and returns the unwavering stare. “This is the initial rush—but it’s only once you control it, once you set the perimeters, that you truly become the sum of your parts. This—,”

Sylar waves his hand dismissively at Mohinder’s body. “Is play acting.”

Mohinder’s anger grows and, unfortunately much like Peter, his emotions still influence the use of abilities more so than his will. “And what you’re doing now is the result of some profound calling?” Mohinder asks and he can sense the initial sparks of miniature electricity bolts jumping between the fingers of both hands. Looking down he is still mesmerized by the bluish purple and white crooked lines that crackle from tip to tip and along his cupped palms as he was the first time he witnessed it. He shakes his head clear and glares at Sylar. “What makes you any different than what you were? Because now you have a select few willing to back you up—for now? Who exactly are you fooling?”

Mohinder takes two steps back and fists his hands at his side to mute the electric currants that are sparking louder and brighter. He closes his eyes in full concentration and emits a pulsating wave that knocks Sylar back. When he looks at what he’s done he sees Sylar looking disorientated while grabbing at his head and cursing in pain, half hunched over. It is a power Mohinder has rarely used or practiced and sustaining it proves an excruciating effort. He drops it in time to react to Sylar’s rapidly raised right hand. Mohinder, guessing that Sylar will throw his most used ability at him, instinctively calls forth his own counter attack to the telekinesis.

Seeing Sylar’s unexpected shock at the invisible force field he puts up is as worth Mohinder’s effort as mounting a decent defense. This is an ability he has held close for precisely a standoff like this. Sylar’s telekinesis hits the barrier but does nothing else to make an impact.

“How interesting,” Sylar says, looking up and down trying to visualize the wall Mohinder has placed around himself.

“I thought you might like it,” Mohinder says with a knowing smile. It is the closest to an acknowledgement that Sylar’s awe of him and what he has done strokes his pride. After all Sylar is rarely impressed by others beyond what they can offer him. But in this moment Sylar’s widening eyes and crooked smile speak of astonishment and Mohinder’s blood rushes from the respectful appreciation.

“Things have changed since you and Peter were thought to hold the most intricate of answers,” Mohinder says from his protective hold. He begins to walk around the room moving the barrier with him. There is an aura of invincibility that infuses his senses. He makes note of Sylar’s intense gaze gliding along his body as well as an innocuous miming of a twisting motion with his left hand. Sylar utters a curious ‘hmmph’ under this breath.

“There are so many other factors that have come into play. And for those of us who know what’s going on we no longer have to rely on desperate hope that people like you will do the right thing. We no longer have to cower or fear if—when—you choose not to. I’m the first but others will follow who can reclaim a place at the frontline of the greatest leap humanity has ever seen.”

The invisible barrier that Mohinder wraps around himself emboldens his confidence. He must work hard at manipulating how far out from his body the wall extends, particularly as he maneuvers around Sylar who is watching him as a predator, but it is not an impossible task. Sylar’s fascination, coupled with the potential to attack certainly help Mohinder’s motivation to not lose focus. However the effort is a rueful reminder that Mohinder’s gifts do not come naturally to him. The ease at which biologically born Specials use their abilities remains an elusive reality for him so he works harder, doing what is necessary, to maintain his edge or equal footing.

“Look at you all leader of the pack,” Sylar says in a mocking tone. He reacts to Mohinder’s recon of their positions by edging away in the opposite direction. Their actions assert the space between them and the lack of physical contact only heightens the intense staring showdown as they refuse to turn away their deadlocked eyes.

Sylar angles his head forward and slightly closes his eyes, peering up at Mohinder with darkened, hooded pupils. It is a chilling move of counter defiance that Mohinder is leery about. He is also aware, for the first time, that despite being able to push his protective barrier out he cannot feel it touching anything. The problem that poses, he realizes, is he has no idea if Sylar is still trying to use telekinesis to cut through it. Mohinder takes a tentative comfort in knowing that the barrier cannot be breached but he considers playing with it, at a less tumultuous time, to see if he can improve upon it. He hears Sylar’s voice calling his attention forward.

“A bit fangless though.”

Sylar steps forward but keeps his head down and glares up at Mohinder. Their movements around each other play out like two pack leaders going for domination. “For all of this you still don’t have that killer instinct.”

“I—,”

“I’m not talking about self-defense or protection or even vengeance. I’m talking about killing for the thrill of it, seeking out victims for what you get out of it, no one else.”

“And that’s what you’re doing with Bennet?” Mohinder asks as his reactive annoyance kicks into gear. “Aren’t you just doing his dirty work? Killing on his demand?”

“I’ve learned to channel mine—to still get what I want but in a more productive and acceptable way,” Sylar says. “You’re not a killer. You incapacitate. You can take power away or at least render it useless for a time being. But you haven’t killed any of the people you’ve confronted. You don’t have it in you.”

“Killing for the sake of it is not exactly a goal I aspire to,” Mohinder says and he slows down his sideways march, encouraging Sylar to do the same. “I see a greater purpose for myself.”

“Yes. Stealing from others and leaving them in a state of confused disarray is a much worthier endeavour,” Sylar says and his eyes appear even darker from below his heavy eyebrows turned downward. “It takes a certain mind, a specific personality, to truly become what you were meant to be. I have always been Sylar…Gabriel…one in the same. I have always been this person. You, Mohinder, are trying to become someone you’re not and you are so far off the line you can’t see where you end and _this…creation_ begins.”

“And what exactly am I?” Mohinder asks in a firm and steady voice that hides his rankled curiosity.

Their eyes meet across the drawn out silence.

“Your research. Your work.”

“I’m still doing that but the field has broadened.”

“When did you last work on using the serum to counter an illness or regenerate cells?” Sylar asks. The demanding authority with which he speaks backs Mohinder up mentally a few steps. He cannot recall the last time he spent a significant amount of research time in his lab.

“You’re so busy trying to catch up to me, but you can’t,” Sylar says.

“I’m not trying to be anything like you,” Mohinder says and he stalks forward into Sylar’s space. His force field pushes Sylar back a foot and Mohinder reels it in just enough so that he can make the biggest impact of sticking his face in Sylar’s. “You’re always imagining yourself as some exemplification of a human being, a step removed from everyone else. You want to believe I am in awe of you because without any outside admiration you’re no more than a killer. It’s not enough for you to think you’re superior, you _need_ others to see it as well.”

Mohinder breathes in deeply and if it were not for the barrier he would practically be sucking in Sylar’s huffed out exhalations. Their anger marks both their faces in distinguished lines that cut across their foreheads and tighten their jaws (so rigid they shake with each breath). “And for a time that false prophesizing was hard to dismiss. But no more. You’re almost…common.”

Mohinder moves back and stretches out the barrier again, ignoring the fleeting look of hurt that flashes across Sylar’s face. The both know how to cut the other down to size.

“I think you’re here to catch a glimpse of the future.”

Sylar rolls his eyes but says nothing.

Mohinder smiles, closed mouth, and turns to continue his portion of their standoff walk. He does not move. Immediate panic shoots through his body. Mohinder moves his limbs in place but when he tries to walk it as if he hits his own boundary. He looks over at Sylar who smirks back.

“You always did talk too much,” Sylar says and he raises his left hand revealing his fingers to be in a claw position. “I personally like that.”

Sylar motions his hand back and the pulling action brings the barrier (with Mohinder inside it) forward.

“You really do have interesting things to say, truly. But you get so distracted by your own words of wisdom and I can’t help but stick in my two cents,” Sylar says broadening his grin.

He swings his left hand to the left and Mohinder loses his footing as he is thrown to the right. He reprimands himself for not giving Sylar credit for figuring out how to unriddle the barrier that had seemed impenetrable. Instead of breaking through it he has learned to move it. It is a brilliant foil Mohinder had not foreseen, admittedly too enthused with using it in self-defense to consider the cons. Not only is the force field movable but he is trapped inside it as the mercy of Sylar’s whims.

As if thinking the same thing Sylar tosses Mohinder up to the ceiling. “Déjà vu,” Sylar says from below. His jeering tone is matched in relaxed eyes that are lighthearted (clearly enjoying the turn of events) rather than dark and heavy.

Unsure of what to do Mohinder decides surprise is as good as anything else. He reabsorbs the force field and goes hurtling towards the floor, towards Sylar. He grimaces and squeezes his eyes shut to brace for the impact but it does not come. When he nervously opens his eyes he is frozen mid fall with Sylar glaring at him and his left hand held up with an open palmed signal to stop.

“Not nearly good enough,” Sylar says and telekinetically presses Mohinder back up to the ceiling before slamming him down to the floor.

Mohinder’s forehead cracks painfully against the wood and he rolls on to his back and reaches both hands to his skull, feeling gently. His groans are ignored as Sylar looms above him and says, “You’re not a killer. This experimenting you’ve been doing on yourself is going to end very badly. You’re not meant to be this. Consider yourself warned.”

Mohinder passes out.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ********** **

 

Mohinder presses his right hand down on the unconscious man’s throat. Stellan Visgaard has already been knocked to the floor and rendered non-combative by a well-timed electric bolt from Mohinder and a follow up sedative. In only a matter of seconds Mohinder is able to claim a blood sample for his own use. The issue arises afterwards when Mohinder hesitates to administer the power removal vaccine but is also unable to leave immediately.

Mohinder had looked through Stellan’s files the week prior and is well aware of the seedier life the magnetized man chose to live. Letting him survive would do no one any favours, in fact killing him would help at least fifteen families reclaim their lives. Even with legitimate justifications aside there is a distinct line between acknowledging a truth and turning it into a reality.

Without realizing it (or maybe the thought did cross his mind but he preferred not to lend validity to obviously questionable actions) Mohinder is suddenly pressing down harder on Stellan’s airway, and yet it is not hard enough to do permanent damage. The voice he hears in his head should be his own but instead it is Sylar’s.

_You’re not a killer.   
_  
_I can be,_ Mohinder thinks and pushes down but the feeling of tight muscle and flesh giving way beneath his palm and gripping fingers induces an instinctive reaction to relax his attack.

_Just do it,_ Mohinder yells inwardly.

_You can’t,_ Sylar jeers. _You don’t have what it takes. What an expected disappointment. You couldn’t even kill me when you had the chance and now another monster will go free_.

Mohinder channels his anger into his straining right and once again he tries to kill Stellan. He can only look at the unconscious man’s face for a few seconds before the reality of a life hanging precariously in his hands is too much to face head on. Then Mohinder is looking up at the window, the wall, and the floor.

Unexpectedly a familiar presence is at his side. Mohinder does not have to look up to know who it is. He keeps his attention on the window across from him and loosens his near death grip. He can hear Sylar shift his feet as he squats down next to him.

“I see _you_,” Sylar says. “You are _not_ a killer.”

The tone is not insulting or ridiculing to instigate a fight. Mohinder hears the declaration as the genuine statement of honesty it is intended as. He glances at Sylar, catching his eye for a second, as he stands up and hurries towards the door. He keeps his back to Sylar and doubles over, dry heaving onto the floor. His stomach muscles painfully constrict as they force up nothing, over and over again. In the meantime Sylar’s footsteps echo in his head, getting closer until he is right behind him, just off to his left.

“Mohinder?”

Mohinder stands up but still refuses to turn around. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sylar move right, to his left, and turn around to face Stellan. Mohinder angles his face to take in Sylar’s expression of extreme focus. He sees Sylar’s shoulders shift and knows that he is raising his arm, most likely to use telekinesis on the man. The confirmation comes a few seconds later when Mohinder hears the broken snapping of neck bones. He turns his face to look straight ahead and away from the evidence behind him and closes his eyes as tears of frustration, disappointment and disgust wet his face. Then it is all over with nothing but the sound of their breathing in the deadened silence.

“It should be difficult for you,” Sylar says. “I need it to be tough for you to follow through and go that extra mile.”

Mohinder opens his eyes and turns his face to look at Sylar who is returning the watchful gaze.

“And why is that?” Mohinder asks in a quiet and steady voice. He feels like he is in freefall as the year since the serum breakthrough collapses in upon itself like a house of cards.

Sylar waits then takes a deep breath and leans into Mohinder. “It’s the only way I make sense.”

“Well as long as I can help you,” Mohinder says and rolls his eyes but there is little malicious intent behind his sarcastic words.

Sylar smiles, hardly perceptible if not for the right corner of his lips pulling up a millimeter, his eyes, unmoving and frozen, remain directly latched onto Mohinder’s. “I can be your hands,” Sylar says. “Let me take on what you can’t.”

Mohinder tenses his forehead as Sylar’s words rattle within his brain. Blatantly heartfelt sentiments have been a rarity sine they first met. Usually they are encased in harsh tones and insulting taunts. Normally they need to be unearthed. Right now, however, there are no superfluous meanings.

“Bennet,” Mohinder says then closes his eyes in discontent and sighs, “What about Peter?”

“This has nothing to do with them and considering what they’ve done,” Sylar says and waits until Mohinder looks back at him before continuing. “Peter not coming after you is, I imagine, a result of knowing you took nothing from him when you could have. This is about us.”

Mohinder looks at the door again and takes drawn out meditative breaths. Sylar remains shoulder to shoulder with him, and Mohinder, normally ready with a retort or carefully placed shoulder shove, feels a shift as he slowly begins psychologically offloading the weight he has been carrying of such immense decisions and actions.

He does not pretend to grasp the specifics of what Sylar is suggesting but what he does know is that he cannot continue the road he has set out on alone. There is exceptional worth in the strides he has made in his work and using himself as a lab rat, as unethically unsound as it is, still carries the greater good at its core. The problem, the missing factor that compromised his experiments, was the lack of a constant, a known control. There was no checks and balances system to keep each altered element in proportion. Is it any wonder he lost sight of his purpose? His limitations?

That can all be fixed.

He does not respond to Sylar’s assertion and his lack of an outright dismissal is done with the same intention, leaving possibility on the table. He steps slowly to the door, listening, thinking. Once he crosses the threshold he walks more quickly and stares straight ahead at the hallway that stretches out before him.

He hears Sylar’s steady footsteps behind him.

 


End file.
